


Magnet

by icylook



Series: Vergil Surana [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 12:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20309782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icylook/pseuds/icylook
Summary: Vergil has trouble with sleeping. Zevran’s a good pillow.





	Magnet

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr drabble posted on Vergil's blog (icy-warden on tumblr) with minor edits.
> 
> Timeline: Blight

It started this one time, when Zevran stayed for the night in Vergil’s tent instead of returning to his bedroll. Both of them exhausted, thanks to the tough day on the road and recent, but more pleasurable activities. At least, Vergil felt more relaxed and  _ hoped _ for some refreshing nap before his watch. They have gone to sleep on their respective sides, not even a stray hair touching. Vergil didn’t believe in cuddling with someone after sex and Zevran didn’t look like he was in need of more physical contact.

Lately, his dreams were exceptionally restless. He assigned this to the situation the party was in, the hardships they had to overcome daily and as Alistair pointed out - his own sensitivity to the Blight, and finally being a mage. To avoid completely draining himself of the energy, he caught naps during the day. Vergil hadn’t missed Morrigan’s mentions of brewing some potions with the herbs they collected, the idea veiled in snarky jabs about his reaction time during fights.

After some tossing around on his bedroll, the mage fell asleep.

Vergil woke up to the warmth of the body he was holding. He blinked sleepily, instinctively nuzzling his face in his partner’s neck. He breathed in their scent and momentarily stiffened, mortified.

Zevran was not sleeping, his breathing pattern told Vergil that much.

Yet, he haven’t moved from the mage’s embrace, not wishing to wake him up, perhaps? For the Void,  _ for how long _ had he used the other man as  _ a pillow? _ Slowly, he backed off from Zevran, refusing to even look at him.

The mage let out the breath he wasn’t aware of holding in.

"Time for your watch, dear Warden?" Zevran’s voice, rough from the sleep startled him but the his smirk told volumes. Vergil threw him a murderous look over his shoulder.

" _ Not a word,"  _ he hissed at Zevran, who only smiled wider and sat up, holding both of his hands in placating manner.

"I wouldn’t dare. Besides, who would believe me?" He purred.

Vergil held Zevran’s gaze for a while, relaxing slightly. He turned away, in search of his day clothes and pieces of armor.

"Go back to sleep, Zevran."

Silently, he promised to himself to  _ never _ repeat this situation.

* * *

He failed miserably.

Every time Zevran stayed the night, they’d fall asleep separately, but wake up with Vergil caging him in surprisingly strong hold. And every time Vergil would grumble and be disgusted with himself, and Zevran would only smile wickedly, not saying anything about it.

Vergil vowed to keep up fighting this  _ humiliating, irrational, _ unconscious habit of his.

* * *

He came to slowly, leaving the Fade behind, warm and rested.

The steady beating of the heart under his ear, someone’s fingers softly petting his hair, occasionally gently scratching the scalp. He lazily opened his eyes, watching the shadows playing on the tent’s wall.

The dawn was near.

The mage sighed quietly and moved to find a better position for his head. The hand playing with his hair stopped its ministrations and Vergil froze for a moment, thinking. Then, he brought his hand to Zevran’s hip, caressing and keeping it there and slightly tilted his head in silent request. He heard a quiet chuckle and the hand in his hair resumed the stroking, Zevran’s other hand placed on Vergil’s, thumb slowly tracing circles on top of his wrist.

The mage let out a soft noise of contentment, eyes closing and lips kissing briefly the center of Zevran’s chest.

He had learnt to pick up his battles and let himself to lose _ this _ fight.

Who would believe it, anyway.


End file.
